by Kate Blair
“We didn’t value people on the Venture,” Cassius says, ignoring my comment. “We threw away lives, people like my son. But here, on the planet, we have the freedom to recognize them for more than their physical ability. We can recognize their value as people.”
We sit in silence for a few long moments, until Cassius runs a hand over his forehead, pushing his messy hair back. “I’ll be frank. I arranged these interviews because I need your help. We have a fear problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a huge adjustment, coming down to the planet. Deeply stressful for the crew. But we have to get used to it.”
I slump back in my chair. Here comes the lecture.
“Most of the colonists are enthusiastic.” He sighs. “But a few were scared of the sky, of the space. A large group moved back to the Venture after the first thunderstorm, and it took weeks to bring them back. People don’t deal with change well. They’re afraid.”
“How many people?”
Cassius gives an odd laugh. “Pretty much all of them, to a greater or lesser extent. Me included.”
“You?”
He meets my gaze again, his expression soft. “Of course. I have to keep them alive. That’s terrifying.”
“But in the hearing …”
“I can’t stoke that fear. For better or worse, this is our home. I haven’t wanted to push people to come down here, but since you spoke, people have started canceling their shifts on Beta. Making excuses to stay on the Venture.”
“I just told the truth. Isn’t that the right thing to do? Shouldn’t we take our time?”
“Dragging out the colonization is making things worse. The sooner we initiate Betafall, the better. The ship wasn’t designed for long-term orbit.”
“She’s stronger than you think. She’s got multiple redundancies in her systems. Look at the shuttle — it was meant for a few recon trips, but they built it to last anyway.”
“The power drain of the shuttle trips is unsustainable. We can’t keep up this many flights. And the delay is tearing the crew apart. We don’t want to end up like the Venture 2.”
I swallow. Our sister ship launched almost a hundred years after we did. But it was faster, closing the gap so it would arrive just twenty years after us. Like the first generations on the Venture, they found it hard to adjust to the small spaces, limited resources, and shorter lifespans on board. But unlike on our ship, thirty years into the Venture 2’s flight, some of their crew rebelled, built weapons out of engineering equipment, and tried to hijack the ship. They wanted to turn around, to return to the comforts of Alpha. The rest of the ship disagreed and fought back.
The last communication we received from the Venture 2 was cut off by an explosion and short-lived screams.
A tiny flame of humanity, snuffed out in seconds.
Things changed after that. The launch of the Venture 3 was cancelled, and communication with Alpha was minimized in case it might cause an uprising on our ship too. There wasn’t much point anyway. By the end of our journey it took over thirty years for a message to reach them, and the same time for a reply. A conversation is a decade longer than an average Venture lifespan. According to the latest news they have, my father isn’t even captain yet and supplies are so scarce we’re not sure if we’ll reach Beta. It’ll be thirty years before Alpha knows we made it.
“It’s my fault,” Cassius says. “Some delay was inevitable, since we had to clear space for the carriages. But I decided to stay in orbit for a while, give people time to adjust.” He shakes his head and drops his gaze. “It caused a deeper schism. Made people feel there was another option.” He exhales. “Now they’re scared of this ‘creature,’ too. I need you to help me calm them down.”
I fold my arms. “I’m not lying for you.”
“I’m not asking you to lie. I’m asking you to help me get to the bottom of this. I want the full details. But away from the rest of the colonists. Let’s talk about this without causing more of a panic.”
“You want the truth? Really?”
“Yes. Start at the beginning,” he says. “At the campfire. How were you feeling?”
“I was giving it a try. I really was. The fire was nice.”
He picks up on my unspoken word. “But …?”
I shake my head, and then the words tumble out.
“It’s just … the glowferns reminded me of the day Maia died. And the songs have changed. And it was dark, and not like home, the noises were weird and …”
I stop. It sounds idiotic when I say it all out loud.
“None of this is anything to be ashamed of, Ursa. The changes you have faced in the last few months are huge. I think you were brave.”
A little laugh slips out. “Brave?”
“You took a landbike through the woods alone, in spite of your discomfort. That is brave.”
“I didn’t feel brave.”
But he smiles. “Tell me what you saw in the forest.”
“I heard something first.” It seems so clear now. That noise I didn’t recognize. “It sounded like the twist of metal, but it must have been a scream. Orion’s scream.”
Cassius’s lips are pressed together.
“It wasn’t long after that I thought I saw it. Just a flash in the dark. Sharp teeth and dark fur. Big. Maybe chest height on me.”
“Be as specific as you can. How many teeth? Was the mouth open or closed?”
I try to concentrate. But I can’t grasp the image, can’t make it solid. It slips from my memory like smoke from the bonfire.
“It was only a second. And it was dark. I did hear breathing for a little longer, though.”
“Even over the wind?”
“Yes.”
Cassius leans back. “You’re an engineer, Ursa. What do you think about what you saw? What would you think if anyone else had seen it?”
“I’d think they imagined it. I’d think they had the big bad wolf on the brain after the bonfire.”
“But what do you really think?”
I rub my forehead. “I’m not sure. I could have imagined it. I … it just seemed real.”
Cassius nods. “You obviously saw something, but it’s possible your brain changed it into the horror that was already on your mind. Or the killer wore a disguise.”
A disguise is possible. Something could be made by the printers. It would make more sense than a creature on an uninhabited planet. But that would also make the killer one of the crew. Someone I’ve known my whole life. That doesn’t feel right.
Cassius leans forward. “It’s obvious to me that you didn’t kill Orion. You’re too smart to try to cover it up with an impossible story.”
A weight lifts from me. I lean back in the chair. Exhale.
“But something happened to Orion. And there will be clues in what you saw. The truth is buried in your memory. We need to go into this further.” Cassius checks his watch. “But it’s late now. We’ll meet again, same time tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I manage. I am tired. And wrung out, too. I have a lot to process.
“Tomorrow, then. Together we can work out what — or more likely, who — was really in the forest that night.”
I head back to the hut in darkness, dizzy with new information, mind spinning from one thing to another. It takes me a little while to get to the cabin as I get turned around and head in the wrong direction. I curse under my breath. If I can’t even find my way around the village, how am I going to navigate a whole planet?
I wish I had someone to talk to, but I know Mom won’t be home until the morning.
The hut is too big and empty. So much wasted space, enough for several sets of bunks. There’s a warm, sweet smell from the cut wood, but I don’t like the way the planks creak when I walk. It’s creepy, like someone following me around the room. It’s a relief to climb
into bed and have the hut fall silent.
I can’t hear anything from the other huts. On the ship, you could catch snatches of conversation through the vents, and it travelled fast as light through the corridors in the form of gossip. There were no secrets on the Venture.
I used to think that was a bad thing. I didn’t realize how much that kept us safe. We knew what everyone else was doing. Problems were caught early. On the planet, anyone could be doing anything. Anyone could be a killer. Spaces are opening between us; our society is fracturing. Maybe the bonds among the crew aren’t strong enough to hold over the new distance.
I lie awake for a while, trying to hear the familiar murmur of voices. But there’s only the unintelligible whisper of the breeze. Eventually I close my eyes and slip into confused dreams of Vega, Orion, and someone familiar dressed as a big bad wolf.
i wake disoriented. jolt up straight in bed, mentally fum-bling for something familiar. There’s only a vague gray light from the crack around the edge of the window, and I struggle to visualize the room, force the dark lumps of furniture to make sense, as my heart pounds. Then it clicks, and I’m in the hut, down on Beta.
I breathe deeply. Swallow down the fear. I’m wide awake now.
I reach for my linkcom and check the time. It’ll be dawn soon, so I push off the blanket and shiver as the cold air hits my skin. I turn on the linkcom’s light, use it to find some clean clothes in my chest, and pull them on. What now?
I swing open the hinged wooden panel that serves as a window and see the sky.
It’s lighter now and turning pink and purple. I stare for a long few seconds. It’s unlike anything I’ve seen. Colors smeared across the world. I head to the hut door and push it open. I’ve never seen the sunrise before. Not properly. Every other morning I’ve been here, it’s been too cloudy. It just went from dark gray to light gray. This is something else.
It’s in layers, brighter nearer the horizon, and it edges the gray clouds with copper.
The mud is dry today. Easier to walk on. I step away from my cabin, until the sky is clearer, stretching out all above me. It still feels too wide. The first time I stepped out under the huge dome of atmosphere, I felt it might crush me. If Maia hadn’t been holding my hand, I’d have run straight back into the shuttle. It was beautiful, yes, but beauty on an inhuman scale, oppressive in its limitless.
Today, it feels almost weightless. Just above the trees glows the vivid orange of molten metal, so I can tell where the sun will rise. The sky itself is lilac. So many colors, merging into each other. The colors from the bonfire cast in the air.
I’m staring so much, I don’t notice Mom approach until she’s almost reached me, trudging over the ground from our makeshift hospital, shoulders rounded with fatigue.
“Ursa,” she says. “What are you doing up so early? How did the interview go?”
I just shake my head and point at the sky behind her. She peers back, over her shoulder, then turns to me.
“Yes,” she says. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”
But I can tell by her glance, the way she took it in so quickly, that she’s already used to it, both the size and the richness of the spectacle. That she’s seen dawns like this many times in the three months I’ve been hiding on board the Venture. What else have I missed?
Mom turns back to me. I see her weariness lift a little at my expression. She smiles, comes over, puts her arm around my shoulder, and watches the sunrise with me.
“It is amazing, isn’t it?” she says. “Thank you for reminding me.”It feels better with her next to me. Her touch grounds me against the celestial display. We stand that way until the star crests the horizon and it’s too bright to watch anymore. It’s nice to have a moment together. But it’s clear she’s exhausted, leaning her weight on me.
“You should get to bed,” I say.
“But let’s make some mother-daughter time. I’ve got an afternoon shift, so maybe this evening?”
“I’m meeting with Cassius again.”
“After your meeting, then?”
“I’d like that.”
“Me too.” Mom gives me a hug, then tramps back toward our cabin.
I head to the printing hut to start the day’s work. I program the printers for the parts to fix the motherboard and wipers. There’s a backlog on the machines, probably because they’ve been wasting time making toys, so I move on to sharpening the landclearer blades and a couple of quick fixes to landbikes and construction equipment. The morning speeds by, and it’s soon midday. I take my break, timing it so I can meet the shuttle as it arrives from the Venture.
I climb on a landbike, gun the engine, and steer toward the shuttle camp.
I accelerate along the forest path, wind in my short hair. There’s plenty of zap in this bike, so I speed up as fast as I dare, braking on the corners, leaning into the turns. The speed is fantastic. Even I have to admit there’s nothing like this on the Venture. The black trees are a blur as I speed past. And the light of the glowferns is too dim to be seen in the bright sun. It seems ridiculous to imagine a creature in the woods today.
“Maybe I am going crazy,” I mutter to Maia. “Oh man, you’d find this so funny.” I pause. “But if I imagined the creature, who killed Orion?”
I’m still wondering when I pull up at the runway. But the spectacle of the shuttle’s landing clears it from my mind. It’s just a speck, at first, in the distance. It could be mistaken for one of the birds Sabik and I saw. But it gets closer, bigger, more real every moment, finally touching down and braking gently, until its white bulk is safely still on the runway.
It’s good to have the shuttle back on Beta. There’s a way back now, until the next launch. A link to my home in the stars.
Even better, Astra and Celeste are on board.
They’re among the first to disembark, and they head right for me. I run to meet them. Celeste’s face is tearstained, and as I reach her, she wraps her arms around me. I hold her tight, until her stomach lurches against me. We pull apart, and both look down at her bump. “You felt that, didn’t you?” Celeste asks. And she’s smiling.
I just nod, baffled at the sensation. There’s a creature inside her. A new human. It’s weird.
Then Astra leans in, and she hugs me too.
“I’m so glad to see you,” she says. “It’s not right, you not being on the Venture. How have you been?”
“Okay.” I turn back to Celeste. “How are you doing?”
“I’m … well, I think it’ll be best if I get back to work. As soon as possible.”
Astra bites her lip. It’s clear she disagrees.
Celeste stares at me for a moment, clearly wanting to say something.
“Celeste? What is it?”
“Did you really see something in the woods?” she asks in a rush.
Deep breath. “I’m not so sure now. There could be another explanation.”
Astra tilts her head. “But you seemed certain, in the engine room.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Astra puts a gentle hand on my arm. “Don’t be too quick to give up your truths, Ursa. I know this planet can be confusing. Be honest with yourself, and let everything come from there.”
“Ursa!” Another voice, and we all turn to look. Jovan comes out of the shuttle and bounds down the steps. “I was hoping you’d be here. Are you on break?”
I just nod, tongue-tied. He looks good in his red landsuit. On everyone else it’s puffy, making them look weirdly lumpy. But on him, it emphasizes his chest, his strong shoulders. His face is solemn, though, so I pull myself together.
“I was going to visit Maia’s grave. You said you’d like to come, right?”
“Um … I …” I look at Celeste.
“I’m fine. I’ve got Mom.”
“Great,” Jovan says. “Give me a second. I’ll let the geneti
cists know I’m taking a break.” He starts striding away, back toward the shuttle.
“Jovan,” Astra calls out. “How are you holding up?” She shakes her head. “I don’t think he heard. Back in a minute.”
I nod, and Astra hurries after Jovan.
“So, it went well with Cassius?” Celeste asks, rubbing her belly.
“Yeah. He’s okay. Maybe I was wrong about a few things.”
“Like?”
“Perhaps I’ve been unfair to Vega.”
Celeste’s hair blows in her eyes. She pushes it behind her ears with both hands, making her face look wide, puffy from the tears. “Vega?”
“I hadn’t thought about things from her point of view. How much she wanted to have children …” I trail off. Celeste is staring at me. Breathing in and out as if she’s gearing herself up to something.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It’s about … about Orion.” She’s almost whispering. She pushes her hair behind her ears again, even though it was already in place. “I … you’d tell me, wouldn’t you? I mean, I know you wouldn’t have done anything deliberately. But if there was an accident, the landbike or something …”
My eyes widen. “Wait. You think I did something to Orion?”
“No! I just … I love you, Ursa. I mean, I know you didn’t like him, and you’re still heartbroken over Maia. You’re my sister, no matter what.”
“Celeste. I did not hurt your husband. I swear.”
She drops her eyes to the smooth ground of the runway. Exhales. My immediate instinct is to be mad at her, but tears are already slipping out between her dark eyelashes.
“Sorry, Ursa. People say things. I’ve not been sleeping. I had to ask.”
“People? What people?”
She rubs her eyes on her sleeve. “I shouldn’t have let them get to me. It’s just been tough.”
I sigh.
She takes my hands. “Please don’t be mad at me. It’s good to have you down here. I’ve missed you.”
“Yeah. I missed you too, sis.” I glance at Jovan, now deep in conversation with Astra next to the shuttle. “I could come with you now if you need me. I don’t have to go with Jovan.”